


I'm Yours Tonight

by tastelikethesun



Series: Lost in Pacific Time [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Broken nose, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Football Player Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Gay Panic, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Panic Attacks, Slow Burn, Toxic Masculinity, i only tagged the Main main characters, lost in pacific time au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28646265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastelikethesun/pseuds/tastelikethesun
Summary: George tunes out, taking another bite of Nick’s food, mostly because he knows Nick won’t notice while he’s so wrapped up in conversation. He soon looks over at the field, watching as the players line up by the goal closest to them, in some sort of formation. They seem to be practicing some sort of kicking procedure--Georgeknowsthat Nick explained it, but he can’t really recall it. His eyes fall on the person kicking, and sure enough, it’s the guy from his compsci classes.Clay.George’s breath is genuinely taken away. Clay looksbeautifulhere, hair just slightly tinged from sweat that slowly drips down his face. He’s tan, and even though George is pretty far away, he swears he can see freckles. Clay cracks his knuckles, then his neck, before he runs at the ball, kicking it as hard as he can.George doesn’t think to warn his friends.Before he knows it, he’s being hit directly in the face with the ball, hard enough to break his nose. He immediately tries to get up, to go get help, but the pain is so bad that he’d rather just sit and cry, desperately trying to keep his nose from dripping blood everywhere.PT. 1 OF LOST IN PACIFIC TIME
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: Lost in Pacific Time [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2103492
Comments: 49
Kudos: 770





	I'm Yours Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> **_loosely based off of i'm yours tonight by the academy is..._** (i couldnt fit that in the summary)
> 
> hi! i have been writing this for a while now KHGFKHJG i just want 2 address a few things before yall get into it:
> 
> \- when i say slow burn i MEAN slow burn like its . man.  
> \- this uses real names (except for techno)  
> \- karl quackity and sap arent dating in this LOL theyre just affectionate (specifically sapnap)  
> \- sbi is like an actual family. found family sort of, but family (its explained in the story)  
> \- george, clay, and karl are all 21; sapnap, quackity, and techno are all 20; wilbur is 25; tommy is 16  
> \- tbh this is rly just sort of slice of life-y ill be honest. this is like mostly to get myself back in the groove of proper writing  
> \- i dont know jackshit about football OR college and it shows  
> \- clay is from wisconsin lol
> 
> anyway!!!! thats all i rly hope everyone enjoys

George knows that most people in his coding classes don’t really like Clay, though he really does not know why. He’s heard many, many rumors about him, but so many of them just feel fake and forced, like people are just spreading lies for the hell of it. From afar, Clay seems like a pretty chill guy. He never interrupts class, he’s never late on an assignment, he gives good presentations, and to top it all off, he is incredibly hot.

To be honest, George and Clay are awfully different. Just because Clay doesn’t interrupt class doesn’t mean he isn’t very talkative, unlike George, who keeps to himself. Clay’s athletic--hell, he was the college’s star player on the football team, having secured the position of quarterback. In contrast, George doesn’t play any sports. He stays in his dorm on the nights of games, much to the disappointment of his few friends. Clay’s _extremely_ American, hailing from somewhere in the midwestern states, while George is British and from Brighton. Clay is quite tall and has dirty blonde hair, while George is just slightly above average height and has dark brown hair.

Have you got the picture yet? They’re nearly polar opposites.

About the only thing they have in common was the fact they’re both computer nerds, and they’re both pursuing the same major, which is computer science. George finds it funny that some jock is into computer science and coding, but hey, who’s he to judge? He views computer science as something pretty amazing, and the more people into it, the better. 

Sometimes he wonders if the reason his classmates view Clay as some asshole is because of the fact he’s a jock in compsci. After all, most of the people he knew in these classes are incel-types, which sucks ass. But even then, why are there so many rumors about him? He knows for a fact that these rumors were really only circulated in these classes, and that quite a few were easily disproved. One example was the rumor that he was a drug addict, which George found absolutely _hilarious_. All it took was a drug test by the football team for that rumor to dissipate, and even then, who _cares_? If, for some reason, Clay was addicted to drugs, why is it anyone else’s business? He couldn’t believe some of the shit he heard about him.

It isn’t something that directly affects George, of course, but he couldn’t help but feel oddly bad and guilty whenever he heard the hushed whispers during class. He doesn’t know Clay, sure, but he could at least interject and defend him from false words.

He ends up staying silent each and every time, hoping that the rumors don’t get to Clay.

/

Clay is incredibly aware of the things people say about him in his classes. Some days it gets to him, but for the most part, it doesn’t bother him. He knows what the truth is, and that’s really all that matters to him. Even if some of these rumors have made and actively make an impact on his life.

“Dream!” His coach yells, using his nickname, beckoning him to come into the locker room. He holds up a picture on his phone, a screenshot of something saying that Clay had been discussing the team’s strategy for the next game with the opposing team. He sighs, and the coach just laughs. “I’m not here to yell at you. I just need proof that you haven’t been doing whatever people are saying about you.”

So Clay does just that--he pulls out his phone and goes through all of his contacts, one by one, reading recent messages with people from the other team that he knew from previous games and seasons. “Does that answer it?”

“How do I know you didn’t just delete messages?”

Clay scoffs, a smile on his face. “Do you think I’m smart enough to purge messages from my phone like that? I didn’t even know that people were accusing me of that.”

The coach--Coach McCall, though the team just calls him by his first name, Andrew--gives him a hearty chuckle, clapping him on the back, hard enough to take the wind out of him for a second. “I figured you hadn’t done anything, I just wanted to tease you about it. It feels like every week some weird ass nerds make something up about you.”

Clay laughs, nodding a little. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I don’t have the time to go out and prove them all wrong, so I just sort of...let it happen, you know?”

Coach Andrew hums a little before he gets serious, looking Clay in the eyes. “You know if it ever gets too much, you can come talk to me, yeah? Rumors like that can really get to you.”

With a smile, Clay thanks him. “If I need anything or--or anyone to talk to, I’ll be sure to let you know. Thanks, Coach.”

“No problem, kid.”

/

“Hey, Jorge,” Alex says, approaching George, with Karl and Nick in tow. George laughs at the name, sitting up from his spot on the ground. He was in the library eating a small lunch, looking over a new book he had checked out. Alex was the only other student from a different country that George knew of, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he _was_ the only other one. It’s a fairly small college, and it definitely isn’t ranked as an amazing one, but it’s enough for what it cost. George, in his junior year, was roommates with Nick, while Karl and Alex roomed together just across the hall. They quickly became friends, finding that they had quite a few interests in common. “Karl really wants to eat lunch out on the bleachers while the team practices, since you never go to the games.”

George rolls his eyes, tucking the book away into his bookbag. “Yeah, yeah, fine, let’s go,” he says, following them out to the field. To be honest, he hadn’t ever been out here. There’s small groups of people here and there, either watching them practice or just basking in the sunlight. George isn’t sure he’ll ever get used to having sunny skies, even if it is a staple of Florida.

They get settled in the bleachers behind a goalpost, and Nick makes some joke about the football coming through and hitting them all in the face. If it weren’t for the fact that other people were nearby in the same bleachers, and that the college’s marching band sat here every game, he probably would’ve been genuinely worried about that. He figures they’re fairly safe.

“You know,” he says, taking a bite from Nick’s lunch, earning him a scoff and a sassy reply, “I’m still not entirely sure what American football is. Like...how does it work?”

Apparently, that question alone is enough to start an incredibly long conversation where Karl and Nick excitedly talk about it, discussing various positions and strategies, as well as listing some famous teams and rivalries.

“Michigan versus Ohio State is always a _super_ big deal. I’m not even from either of those states and I tune in, it’s really wild,” Nick says, leaning back against the metal bar behind him. George chooses to ignore the way Karl’s eyes follow his form as he leans back. “Ohio State always runs some big campaign where they block out every M in things…”

George tunes out, taking another bite of Nick’s food, mostly because he knows Nick won’t notice while he’s so wrapped up in conversation. He soon looks over at the field, watching as the players line up by the goal closest to them, in some sort of formation. They seem to be practicing some sort of kicking procedure--George _knows_ that Nick explained it, but he can’t really recall it. His eyes fall on the person kicking, and sure enough, it’s the guy from his compsci classes.

_Clay_.

George’s breath is genuinely taken away. Clay looks _beautiful_ here, hair just slightly tinged from sweat that slowly drips down his face. He’s tan, and even though George is pretty far away, he swears he can see freckles. Clay cracks his knuckles, then his neck, before he runs at the ball, kicking it as hard as he can.

George doesn’t think to warn his friends, even as the ball comes hurdling directly towards them.

Before he knows it, he’s being hit right in the face with the ball, hard enough to break his nose. He immediately tries to get up, to go get help, but the pain is so bad that he’d rather just sit and cry, desperately trying to keep his nose from dripping blood everywhere.

He can distantly hear everyone around him start to panic, but there’s only one voice he can distinctly hear amongst the chaos.

“Oh my god, oh _fuck_ , I’m so sorry,” someone says, and George looks up.

Clay’s standing directly in front of him, using the undershirt of his jersey to wipe the blood from his face. Someone passes him an ice pack--George doesn’t question how they got it so quickly--and Clay holds it to his nose before he’s _picking him up_ , effortlessly and quick, instructing George to hold the ice to his nose. George does as Clay says, a bit woozy and out of it.

“Where we goin’?” he asks, and he registers the fact that Nick is laughing.

“Poor guy’s completely out of it!” Nick laughs, and Karl and Alex join in. He smiles a little, glad to know that they aren’t super worried about him.

“I’m taking you to the team nurse. She’ll get you sorted out and you’ll be back in your dorm before you know it.”

George hums a little, burying his face against Clay’s jersey, ice still pressed on his nose. He takes a deep breath in, even if it hurts, much against every warning of his brain telling him to stop. “You smell good.”

If George could see Clay’s face, he’d be seeing shock, then a soft blush. Clay just laughs, a pleasant, slightly wheezy laugh, holding George even closer to him. “We’re almost there, okay? Practice is called off for now, so...Uh...I can stay with you while she fixes you up, if you want.”

Distantly, George hears his friends making childish “ _oooh!_ ” noises, but George doesn’t understand why. Clay just _broke his fucking nose_ , of course he’d offer to stick around. George finds himself agreeing to that before he can properly think about the decision, and he swears he can feel Clay squeezing him for just a moment.

/

It’s about ten minutes later, and George is currently laying in a medical bed that resided in the nurse’s office. The nurse had told Alex, Karl, and Nick that they couldn’t stay, much to the anger of the three of them. If George wasn’t in severe pain right now, he’d probably laugh at that. He’s half asleep as the nurse and Clay talk, and he forces himself to stay awake so he can hear their conversation.

“I can’t believe you managed to kick it _directly_ in this kid’s face.”

“He has a name, you know.” George blushes a little. Did Clay really know his name? “I mean--I don’t know what it is, but he’s in the same major as me. But still, he _does_ have a name.”

George manages to hide his disappointment at the name thing, but he _is_ happy that Clay at least recognized him. 

"You can't scold me for not calling him by his name if you don't even know it, Clay." The nurse shuffles around, and George thinks she's standing up. "It's George, by the way. One of those guys told me."

The curtain opens and then closes, and George listens to the sound of footsteps leaving the bed. Clay turns towards him, and to George's surprise, he feels a hand on top of his. "I know you're awake," Clay says, and George can't help but smile. "I'm sorry for not knowing your name, by the way. I didn't think to ask."

George looks at him, vision a little bit blurry. He blinks for a few seconds until he can see properly again. "Don't worry about it."

They fall into silence, but it isn't uncomfortable or tense or anything. Clay still has his hand on George's, and oddly enough, it's calming. He moves his fingers a little bit, just to tease Clay.

"Your hand's soft," Clay mumbles, and George smiles.

"Yours isn't." Clay laughs at that. George feels like he could listen to his laugh forever. It's perfect, and it matches what he knows about Clay's personality so perfectly. "Is it from football, or…?"

"Yeah, kind of. We usually wear gloves in football, but part of it is like...Okay, so my family lives in the middle of nowhere, right? In like the midwest. And we use firewood for various things, so I guess my hands just got calloused from chopping and moving wood. Not to mention the fact we also have a massive garden which requires, y'know, handiwork."

George listens as Clay rambles on. His voice is perfect, and the way he gets so excited while talking about his life at home is absolutely endearing. "That sounds really cool," George says, mentally cursing himself for how dumb that came out. Clay doesn't seem to mind, since he continues talking about it. He silently wonders if Clay talked like this with everyone, or if he just felt comfortable with George.

By the time the nurse is telling him he's free to leave--she's really just kicking them out, though--George has learned more about Clay than he ever expected to. He learned about how many people were in his close family, about his favorite foods and how he doesn't really like breakfast, about how he likes to take long drives when he's bored since it gives him something to do.

George goes to stand up, but Clay shakes his head. "I'll carry you back to your dorm," he says. George has no time to protest as Clay picks him up, helping him wrap his legs around his waist and telling him to hold on. "What hall do you live in?"

"Chamberlain Hall, fourth floor. Room 207."

"Really? I'm surprised I've never seen you. I live in the same hall, just on the third floor." 

They fall into silence again, and George listens to Clay breathe. He smells his neck, smiling at the scent.

/

Luckily for George, he didn't have any in-person classes this week. All that he's left with by the end of the week is a pretty bad bruise, but it's nothing he was ashamed of going out in public with. He's just glad most of the swelling had gone down. Nick had been monitoring him just to make sure he didn't have a concussion, and he's quite happy to say that he didn't.

He closes his laptop, done with his coursework for the day. It's three in the afternoon on a Friday, and George has nothing to do. He soon finds himself wandering down the stairs, soon on the third floor. As he gets there, he wonders if Clay is thinking about him at all. He lets out a sigh, ignoring all of that in favor for leaving the dorm hall altogether, walking to...somewhere. He isn't sure where he's going yet, but that's the best part. Wandering without a location in mind always leads him to some pretty cool places.

He soon finds himself in the college's botanical garden, sitting down on a wooden bench that's been painted dark green to fit in with the bushes around. It's right by a large water fountain that students usually threw coins into for wishes and good luck, even though the environmental clubs repeatedly asked them not to. He sits cross-legged and pulls out his book, the one he'd gotten the day of the little nose-breaking incident.

George loses himself in the book, the second book in the Inheritance Cycle, named Eldest. He had just finished Eragon, the first book, a week prior, and he was excited to find out that the library had the full series.

Although the book is amazing, his mind starts drifting away. He finds himself wondering if Clay was an avid reader, or if he enjoyed writing, or if maybe he hoarded books and poetry the way George did. It's a pleasant thing to imagine. Would Clay like talking about literature with him? Would they discuss the ins and outs of their analysis of books? Maybe they'd choose a book each week, like a book club, to read together, or maybe George could ask Clay to read his favorite stories in that sweet voice of his.

George eventually tunes back in, having been reading the same page over and over. He goes to continue reading, but something catches his attention.

A raindrop falls onto the page.

He shuts the book as fast as possible, not wanting to damage it in any way. He genuinely hadn't noticed the fact that the sky was overcast, and he didn't know that it was supposed to rain today. After slipping the book into his bookbag, he starts heading back to his dorm, since there's nothing else he can do at the moment.

/

"I heard Clay punched him in the nose," some random guy says as George walks past him. George glares at him. This is the new rumor about Clay in the compsci classes, and it really pisses George off. If they wanted to know what happened, why didn't they just _ask_?

He sits down in the back left corner of class like he normally did, isolated and hidden from the view of everyone else. That is, until, some guy in a yellow-- _green?_ \--hoodie sits next to him.

"Hi, George," he says, and George blushes. Clay.

"Hey." He looks at him, a small smile on his face. "Uh...Okay, what color is your hoodie?"

Clay looks at him in confusion. "...Green?"

George hums, nodding a little. "Okay, yeah. I feel like that fits you." He laughs at the look on Clay's face. "I'm, uh, colorblind. The only color I can _really_ see is blue. Green and yellow is basically the same, and everything else is...Odd, to say the least."

Clay gets some big, dumb smile on his face, lighting up with excitement. "Oh my god, really? What color do you think our team is? Like, what's our team colors?"

"I know blue for certain, but...I always assumed yellow was the other one. Is it not?"

Clay laughs, wheezing, and George can't help but laugh as well. "No, no! It's green! What--what color are my eyes?"

"Well, judging by this conversation, m'gonna say they're green."

Clay laughs some more, much to the dismay of the other students who are waiting for the professor to arrive. He leans against George as he does so, and George absolutely loves it. He feels so at ease around him, and he hopes Clay feels the same way about him.

"Have you heard the new rumor about you?" George blurts out without much thought. He wasn't sure how all the rumors made Clay feel, so he isn't sure why he asked. It's okay, though, because Clay looks at him with an excited, curious look. "Well...They--they--"

George's words are cut off by his own laughs. "They think you _punched_ me."

It takes a moment for the words to sink in, but when they do, Clay's practically dying, wheezing so hard that he sounds like a deflating balloon. " _Punched you_?" he says, tears in his eyes from how hard he's laughing. "Oh, come _on_ now, that's absurd!"

George points at the person who was talking about it, laughing just as much as Clay. God, he felt so happy right now. "I walked in and they were, like, pointing at me 'n trying to be all secret, right? And I just hear 'I heard Clay punched him'!"

For some odd reason, this is the funniest thing they have ever heard. They're both roaring with laughter, and it gets so bad that someone turns around and tells them to shut up. They manage to stifle it down to small giggles, finding it all so ridiculous.

George hopes he can laugh with Clay like this a lot more in the future.

/

"Someone left you a present earlier, I put it on your desk," Nick says, a smirk on his face, which is soon wiped off as he loses a game of Smash to Karl. He throws the controller at Karl, just narrowly missing his forehead.

"Hey! Careful, or we'll have another broken nose," Karl says, laughing, incredibly elated that he'd won this game. "Alex always beats me, it's nice to win for once."

George lets them bicker as he goes to his room, utterly confused as he sees flowers and a gift box. _What the hell?_

He picks up the flowers, now finding a card underneath. It's addressed to him in pretty, yet messy, handwriting, sealed with--is that _wax_? George shakes his head as he opens it, pulling out a yellowed piece of notebook paper. 

_Hi George! I wanted to give you this in class tomorrow, but I didn't know if you'd be comfortable with that, so I went with giving it to your roommate to hold for you. I hope this makes up for 'punching you in the face'. :)_

_From,  
Clay_

George smiles, looking over the flowers. It's not like he can really see the colors, but they're beautiful nonetheless. He makes a mental note to run and get a small vase when he's done opening his gift.

He unties the meticulously wrapped ribbon and opens the lid of the small cardboard box, finding a set of books inside, as well as another note.

_I saw that you were reading the Inheritance books so I bought you the whole series plus an extra book I really like! It's helped me approach literature better, I had to read it for AP English in high school. I've noticed you really like reading so I also added a list of my favorite books and their summaries! If any sound interesting just let me know and you can borrow them!_

George can't really believe it. This is the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him _ever_. Not to mention the fact that Clay had been _watching_ him enough during class to know that he was into literature, and the idea of that had George feeling giddy with excitement. Did Clay think he was interesting? Did he think he was _attractive_? The thought alone was enough to make George blush.

He takes the first four books out of the box and lines them up. They're all hardcover, and George wonders how Clay had enough money right at the moment to just buy four hardback books. He smiles, a wide, stupid smile, so excited to have an entire series in his possession. He sets them aside and pulls out the last book.

George isn't sure what it is, but the title quickly makes it clear. _How to Read Literature Like a Professor_ by Thomas C. Foster. It seems...Well, it seems immensely boring, honestly. George opens the cover and finds yet _another_ note, and he wonders when the writings will stop.

_I can already guarantee that you're probably thinking "Wow, Clay, what a shit gift!" But trust me, this book is actually pretty cool. I've annotated the entire thing front to back too! I think it's pretty valuable when it comes to analyzing certain things in books and I hope you like it. <3_

George blinks. Fully annotated? He flips through the pages, and sure enough, all of the margins are scribbled in with various notes and thoughts that Clay had while reading. Some are observances, some are notes for things he needs to remember, and some are references to other books that he thought of while reading. George finds himself reading through it already, intrigued by what Clay found so great in it, enough to annotate it all.

/

George slips the flowers into the new vase he bought, displaying them on a small shelf near his bed. He smiles at them for a moment, hoping that they’ll stay alive for a while longer. His thoughts are interrupted by Nick, who’s knocking on his door frame to alert him of his presence.

“So? What’d he give you?”

George grins and explains everything, showing Nick the books and the flowers and the notes, talking excitedly about the fact Clay had given him all of this. “A-and get this, he gave me an _annotated_ copy of this! There’s so much meaning to him in this book and he gave it to me, all because he broke my nose! It’s so cool!”

Nick laughs, sitting down on George’s desk chair and spinning around. It felt nice to see George so excited about something like this. “So, are you two friends now?”

George blushes a little, shrugging his shoulders. “I mean, I guess? He’s really nice to me, but it could just be because he feels bad...I don’t know. I hope we are, he’s really cool.”

Nick hums, soon standing up. “Fair enough. Are you gonna go to the game tomorrow? It’s the best game of the season, the team’s facing off against the top team in the division. It’s bound to get pretty heated.”

George thinks for a moment. He’d never gone to a game, so he wouldn’t really know anything about what’s going on, but he’s sure it’d be pretty interesting. Besides, he wanted an excuse to see Clay play for real this time, without the risk of getting his nose broken. He looks up at Nick from his position on the bed. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll go.”

Nick’s fucking _ecstatic_ , so ecstatic that he immediately goes and tells Karl, who is equally as excited. George smiles to himself, happy that he could make his friends happy. He eventually stands up and slides his bag on his back, laptop inside, deciding to go to one of the cafés that resided right outside of campus and get a headstart on his next coding assignment. It’s a fairly small place, out of the way from a lot of the public’s eye, and George had only found it by accident last year while wandering around looking for places to chill -- the Sleepy Bean.

George steps inside, already grinning at the smell of coffee hitting him. It's so oddly comforting even if he wasn't the type to drink coffee often. He heads to the counter, and the employee's already smiling.

"The usual?” he asks, and George nods with a grin.

“Thanks, Wilbur.”

“Not a problem. How are classes going?”

George shrugs, setting his laptop up on a table towards the corner, out of the way from anybody else who might come in. “They’re going pretty good. I’m ahead in one of them right now, which is pretty nice.”

Wilbur doesn’t reply, but George knows that he’s listening. A few moments later, there’s someone sitting at his table, and a drink is being pushed towards him. “Here it is, just for you,” Wilbur says, earning a laugh from George. “By the way...what’s up with your nose? Nick tweeted out a picture of it all beat up from like, last week.”

“He _what_?”

“Oh, you didn’t know?”

George sighs, laughing again, soft and quiet. “I, uh...I got hit with a football. Me ‘n Nick ‘n all them were eating out on the bleachers and it just sort of. Happened. So.”

Wilbur snorts, leaning back in his chair until it’s resting against the wall behind him, propping his feet up on the table. George doesn’t mind this; Wilbur’s a close friend, and he was comfortable around him. The only part was the fact he had his dirty shoes on a table in a place of eating and drinking, but to be fair, no one else was here. It was just the two of them.

“What I’d pay to be able to watch that,” Wilbur says, looking out the window. “You going to the game tomorrow?”

George nods. “Yeah, I’m going. Just sort of feels right to go after, y’know, what happened.”

He leaves out the part about wanting to go see Clay, mostly because he knows Wilbur will tease him to death. Besides, he isn’t exactly ready to admit that maybe he sort of kind of possibly just a little bit has a crush on Clay.

"Fair enough," Wilbur says, hands resting clasped on his chest. They fall in silence for a moment.

"Have you written anything lately? Or recorded?" George asks, and Wilbur grins with a nod.

"Yeah! I'll email you the files when I'm home. I'm pretty excited about it."

Wilbur had graduated the year George was a freshman, as he had found out by stopping in this little place all the time. He was an English major, but English wasn't his passion--music was. This café job was a side thing for money, even though he actually did like his job.

George is about to say something but someone walks in, the sound of the quiet door chime alerting them. Wilbur nearly falls out of his chair as he desperately tries to get up, to act more professional, and George laughs. It's an attempt, sure, but it isn't a good one. Luckily, whoever it is doesn't seem to mind.

He loses himself in his assignment for a little while, but there's something nagging at his mind.

Clay. Of course it is.

Clay is so… _unknown_ to George. He's like nothing George has ever experienced, and just from their few moments together, he is absolutely hooked. Clay cast out a line and George got reeled in. It's oddly nice, though, if George is honest. He loves his friends, he really does, but it's _exciting_ to find someone new, to meet someone that sets his insides ablaze from a simple smile.

George is ripped from his thoughts by a familiar voice.

"Aw, man, someone's in my spot," the voice says, and George registers Wilbur's laugh.

"He got there first. Go sit somewhere else, big man. Or, if you want--" George can _hear_ the smirk on Wilbur's face, "--you can help me fill orders. Whichever you'd prefer."

The voice laughs, and George's head whips around.

Oh, of _course_ it's Clay. How ironic.

"Wilbur, man, I enjoy your company quite a bit, but there's no way in hell I'm helping you. Besides, what if I want to meet whoever it is in my spot? I'm sure he's--"

Clay turns around and they make direct eye contact.

"George?"

"Uh, h-hey."

_Awfully smooth, idiot,_ George thinks, but his mind has no time to continue as Clay rushes over and falls into the seat across from him.

"I didn't expect to see you here!" Clay says, and he takes a drink of whatever it is he'd ordered. It looks like some sort of smoothie. "Isn't this place great? It's so _cozy_ , I love coming in here and reading for hours."

"Yeah, and you hog up that table while you're at it!" Wilbur says, feigning anger, but Clay just laughs it off.

"But for real, I didn't think you'd be here. Do you like it?"

"Yeah, I do." He looks over at Wilbur. "Though I'd say that even if I didn't. Wil would probably kill me if I said I didn't."

"Damn right."

George laughs this time, and he doesn't notice how it makes Clay's face light up, laughing along with him. They fall into easy conversation, talking about class and their plans for the week.

"Oh, yeah, I meant to ask! Are you planning on going to the game tomorrow? I promise I won't break your nose this time."

George goes to speak, but instead he sees Wilbur storming over, jokingly grabbing Clay by the ear. " _You_ broke my boy's nose?" he says, and George bursts out laughing, half from Wilbur's actions and half from the genuinely terrified look on Clay's face.

"Easy, Wilbur, let him go!" George giggles, and Wilbur does so with a laugh before walking off again. Clay's left rubbing his ear to soothe the pain. "But to answer your question, I am. I've never been to one before."

Clay gasps. "Really? _Never_?"

"Yeah, never. My friends always try to make me go but it wasn't something that interested me until...Well, until you broke my nose, actually. Figured it was a sign that I should at least try it out."

Clay is practically vibrating in pure excitement, like a child who'd just been told they're going to Disney World. It warms George's heart, up until Clay's expression is changed to that of mischievousness, and he's slightly worried about what Clay has planned. "How many of you are going?"

"Uh...Four, why?"

"Do you think you could meet me by the locker rooms an hour or two before the game? I'm gonna get them other three the _best_ seats, as a little gift for your first game ever."

"’Them other three?’ What about me?"

"Well…" Clay says, a big smile on his face. "You can either sit and watch the game or you can sit inside the fence with, like, the cheerleaders and waterboys and see it up close. Only if you want to! It isn't the best for actually watching but...I kinda want you to be close, if that's okay."

George blushes and a pit forms in his stomach, but it's a good pit. He feels himself falling even deeper into his weird care for Clay. "Okay, yeah, that sounds good. We'll meet tomorrow, then."

"Great!" Clay says, taking a drink. He points at George's laptop. "What are you working on, by the way?"

Working, huh? Sure, that's a name for it. George had just been passively adding small codes here and there while talking to Clay, and he hadn't gotten much work done since his arrival. He smiles. "It's the next coding assignment for Meyer's class. He posts the assignments in advance so I went ahead and started on it."

They soon delve into an excited conversation about various coding things, with George showing Clay some things he'd coded in his spare time.

The blush doesn't fade from George's cheeks once.

/

It’s definitely weird sitting in front of a locker room filled with about 85 or so sweaty jocks, and George finds himself a bit daunted, but luckily Nick’s there to keep him grounded and calm, cracking jokes about this situation. “I can’t believe you getting your nose broken lead to this,” he said while they made the walk to the area, holding hands with Karl, who was holding hands with Alex. This was a surprisingly normal occurrence. “You getting your nose broken is the best thing _ever_.”

They all eventually end up on a nearby bench, waiting for Clay to come out and greet them. George is steadily getting more and more nervous--his friends could easily pass as football fans, even if Karl and Alex didn’t really seem like they would be, but George knows there’s no way in hell anyone would look at him and go, ‘wow, that twink sure does love football!’. He knows he’s incredibly out of place.

Five minutes pass. His friends are talking about some video game. He doesn’t join in.

Ten minutes pass. His friends are talking about their plans for the weekend. This also involves some video game.

Fifteen minutes pass. His friends are--

“Hey, George!” Clay calls, and George nearly trips as he gets up from the bench, stumbling over his own feet in a rush to meet Clay face to face. He chooses to ignore the way Nick laughs at him. George goes to speak but Clay’s tossing a sweatshirt at him, a soft, warm expression on his face. “Brought this for you. Figured you didn’t have any team merch, so I snagged this one from my closet. It’s green and blue, by the way. Like the team colors.”

George practically melts then and there, and Nick’s losing his shit by this point. Alex and Karl are desperately trying to get him to stop, but they’re both snickering and laughing at George, so their efforts don’t work. Clay doesn’t seem to notice what’s going on. “Look at the design of it!”

George nods, hands slightly shaky as he unravels the sweatshirt. The front of it has a large, embroidered emblem that belongs to their school, and George runs his fingers over the threading. Clay gives him a little gesture to show that there’s more on the back and he turns it over, gasping when he sees it. There’s a number, 13, and a name scrawled above it.

Dream?

“Who’s...that?” George asks, and Nick nearly goes crazy screaming at him.

“You go to this school and you don’t get it? You’re a lost cause George, holy _shit_ \--” Nick starts, but Karl wraps a hand around his mouth to shut up. Nick just licks his hand, and Karl fake gags.

“It’s, uh...Okay, so normally we display our last names, but, uh. Okay, so my freshman year when I tried out, the coach called me a dream, and it sort of just stuck. All the teammates call me that and it’s easier to print that since it’s more recognizable than...my name, I guess. So that hoodie has my name and team number.”

Clay’s nervously scratching the back of his neck, blushing a little. George just grins. “Well, I think it fits, y’know?” he says, and Clay beams at him.

“If you want I can take your current hoodie and keep it safe in here? And you can wear that one.”

George blushes, but pulls his hoodie off, leaving him in a thin, white t-shirt. Nick catcalls him as a bit of his skin gets exposed, and George just laughs, nearly forgetting Clay is there. “You like what you see, Pandas?” he asks, and Nick grins.

“You know it, babe!”

George laughs and turns back to Clay, who’s currently staring at him with the most frazzled, deer-in-the-headlights expression, but George can’t figure out why. He dismisses it and slips the hoodie on, gasping when it absolutely swamps him. It reaches to his mid-thigh, and it _smells_ like Clay, and that’s when George realizes something.

Ah. Okay. So maybe he liked Clay a little bit.

_No one gets that overly happy inside when a sweatshirt smells like someone unless they have a crush on them,_ he thinks, and the realization is...Actually, it isn’t super scary, and it doesn’t hit him like a truck. He licks his lips. _It’s just an infatuation, George, not an actual crush. You’ve known him for a week and a half, and you just think he’s neat._

That thought keeps him from being too embarrassed.

George looks up at Clay, and _fuck_ , the expression on Clay’s face has him weak in the knees. He’s gone from frazzled to almost _loving_ , staring at George with a fond, happy expression. There’s a slight blush covering his face, and it makes George giggle.

“You’re staring,” he mumbles, not really sure why exactly he said that.

“Maybe I am,” Clay answers quickly, _smoothly_ , and George takes in a sharp breath. “You...You look good in my hoodie, George.”

George hears a loud groan, disrupting him from his thoughts. He silently thanks god for that. “Look, guys, you can be gay later,” Nick says, and Clay laughs, that wheezy, loud laugh. George is glad the two are already getting along. “We’re kind of bored here, you know.”

“God, Nick, you’re always so demanding,” George says, rolling his eyes. He sees Nick smirk. _What’s that bastard planning_?

“Oh, am I? You didn’t seem to mind when I was demanding you to kiss me last night--”

“ _What_?” two people ask in unison--Karl and George.

“Okay, first of all, stop lying, second of all, I wouldn’t kiss you even if my life depended on it.”

“I know, I just wanted to see--” he points at Clay, who has that same frazzled look on his face again, “--him react to that again. Got all weird when I called you babe.”

“You’re such an idiot, Pandas.”

/

George sits on the bench closest to the goalpost, watching as the game goes on. He doesn’t really know what’s happening, he just knows who he’s watching for--number 13. _Thirteen, huh?_ George finds himself thinking that 13 is his favorite number.

Although he’d been alone most of the game, he wouldn’t say that he felt left out at all. A few football players had come up and introduced themselves, and so did a few cheerleaders. He wonders if Clay had told these people about him, or if they just recognized that he was someone new and felt the need to come say hi. 

There’s about three minutes left of the last quarter, and the score is incredibly tight. As in, they’re tied. George starts to hear talks of overtime, and he has to hold back a sigh--he’s really tired, honestly, and he wants to go home.

Well, until he remembers that he’s here for Clay. The thought makes him grin like a little kid, shifting in his seat, suddenly extremely invested in the game.

Before he knows it, there’s thirty seconds left. He can _feel_ the tension in the stadium, though a lot of it might just be his own. His heart feels like it’s being squeezed as the clock stops and starts every two seconds. The team is inching closer to their goalpost, and George hopes that they’ll score.

He hears the announcer come over the PA system, narrating a play, but George can’t be bothered to listen.

Clay is _right there,_ so tantalizingly close, and the clock stops again. When George sees Clay’s face, he frowns. Even through the helmet he can tell that Clay’s feeling bummed out and frustrated, and it hurts George’s chest. He wants nothing more than to rush out and tell him that he can do it, that he’s going to win, and that the team will be fine.

The clock starts again.

The ball is passed to Clay.

George does the next best thing to rushing out.

“C’mon, _Dream!_ ” he shouts, as loud as he can, surprising the people around him. He’d been quiet the whole time, really. “You can do it! Go on, go!”

Apparently it’s exactly what Clay needs.

George can practically see the energy and adrenaline rush through Clay as he runs as fast as he can to the end of the field, dodging any tackles that come his way, and then _finally_ , he’s made it to the goal. The clock hits zero.

The stadium erupts in screams and cheers as the marching band plays the team’s song, and without even realizing, George is right there with the audience, screaming and cheering for the win.

Clay’s team seems to flock towards him to try and pick him up in celebration, but Clay’s too quick. He’s running _directly_ at George, throwing his helmet off before he envelopes George in his arms, picking him up and spinning him around. He’s laughing, out of pure glee, and George finds himself laughing as well, face buried in Clay’s shoulder pad. He ignores the smell of Clay’s sweat.

“You did it!” George yells, still being held by Clay, though he’s back on the ground now. “That was so cool! H-he passed you the ball and--and you ran _so far_ and got the goal right as the clock ended, that was so--”

“I couldn’t have done it without you!” Clay says, and George grins, jumping up and down out of pure excitement.

“Really? _Me_?”

“Yeah, you! That little shout you gave me? It helped so much, George! You’re like my personal little cheerleader!”

George blushes at that, hugging Clay tight and close again, like they were the only people in the world. He hopes he isn’t just imagining that Clay hugs him back in the same exact way.

/

**Unknown Number:** Is this George? It’s Clay :)

George sucks in a breath as he gets the notification. He had given Clay his number after the game, since for some reason, they hadn’t exchanged numbers yet. He smiles a little and adds the contact to his phone.

**George:** hi :] it’s george!

**clay:** Oh, good  
**clay:** Was afraid you might give me the wrong number as a joke lol

**George:** why would i do that?  
**George:** after all i’m like your ‘personal cheerleader’ now so i think legally i have to give you my number so i know when to come cheer u on

Clay smiles at that. He doesn’t tell George, of course, but he changes his contact name.

**clay:** You’re such an idiot, but you’re cute so I’ll let it pass  
**clay:** I’m heading off to bed but I just wanted to pop in and say thank you for coming today :) you being there really meant a lot. Thanks for coming <3

George’s hands shake, a wide, toothy grin covering his face as Clay thanks him for coming.

**Fav cheerleader <3:** of course!! i’ll go to any game you want me to :]  
**Fav cheerleader <3:** goodnight clay!!

**clay:** Goodnight, George :)  
**clay:** Wait, actually, I had two questions  
**clay:** Why do you call Nick Pandas? And are you two actually dating or  
**clay:** I wouldn’t judge if you are!! But I was just wondering

**Fav cheerleader <3:** omg no we aren’t dating LOL he’s just like that, he likes to be affectionate a lot and he likes to tease  
**Fav cheerleader <3:** and pandas has just always been his nickname, i don’t really remember how we came up with it

**clay:** Oh lol okay, I was just wondering  
**clay:** Okay goodnight now!! Sleep well George

**Fav cheerleader <3:** goodnight clay:]

/

George doesn’t know why he’s wearing Clay’s sweatshirt again. After all, there’s no game today. He’s just sort of...wearing it. It’s Monday again, which means he has to go in for his coding class, and he isn’t exactly prepared to hear what sort of rumors are flying around this week. He wonders if any of them have to do with him. If they don’t, they surely will once people see him in this hoodie. Normally, the thought of people talking about him because of his clothes would be enough to make him change, but the fact that it’s _Clay’s_ sweatshirt keeps him from changing. He likes the feel of it, the smell of it, and the look of it. He giggles a little into the mirror as he looks at himself.

“How long until you guys kiss?” Nick says, coming up behind George, a can of monster in his hand. He leans against the doorway. “I’m thinking it’ll be a week at the least, and three weeks at most.”

George hides his face with the sleeves of the hoodie, ignoring the way Nick teases him for being embarrassed. “We aren’t gonna kiss,” he mumbles, even though those words make his chest hurt. “We’ve only just started being friends.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Nick wraps his arms around George’s waist from the back, and while any other time that’d be some sort of romantic gesture, George knows that it’s Nick’s way of showing friendship. He leans into the touch, smiling at their faces in the mirror. “I have class ‘n then work from like, 10 to 10 today, so I won’t be back until you’re probably asleep.”

George hums, gently running a hand through Nick’s hair. “I can stay up, if you want. I don’t have any early classes tomorrow.”

“That’d be pretty poggers,” Nick says, and George immediately pushes him away, falling into laughter with him. 

Nick eventually heads out for class, leaving George alone in their dorm to finish getting ready for class. He slips Eldest into his cute messenger bag, deciding he didn’t want to wear a backpack today--he wanted to show off the back of his hoodie as much as possible. He slides his phone and laptop in as well and heads off to class with a smile on his face.

Of course, as soon as he walks in, he’s being stared at. He hears a group of people whispering.

“Isn’t that Clay’s hoodie?” Someone mumbles, voice dripping with venom as they say Clay’s name, rolling their eyes. “You’d think after being punched by him he wouldn’t go anywhere near him. Fucking weird. Do you think they’re dating?”

“I don’t think George is gay, though,” someone else says, and it takes all George has to not laugh. Do people really think he’s straight? Jesus. “But I wouldn’t be surprised. Clay’s probably just using him as a rebound. Wasn’t his last breakup super messy?”

“Yeah, apparently Clay has _real_ bad anger issues. Got so bad that his ex just up and left.” The person speaking laughs a little, eyes still on George’s form, who’s just been standing off to the side and acting like he’s busy on his phone. “I heard he took it out on his ex.”

George goes a little numb. There’s no way that’s true, right? Clay was a genuinely good person, and so many people could back that up. It’s just another one of the compsci majors’ rumors, and George knows that.

So why does his chest hurt?

He shakes his head and walks to his seat, settling into his chair. He knows that the rumor isn’t true, and that there’s no reason to worry, and that Clay would make sure to confirm it to him if he simply asked. So he waits for Clay to arrive, pulling out his book and reading it, already three quarters of the way through it. He only gets two and a half pages in before Clay shows up, falling into the seat next to him, gasping softly.

“My hoodie!” he says, a blush on his face, grinning at him. “Do you like it? It’s one of my favorites.”

“It’s really comfy, I like it a lot,” George says, unintentionally leaning closer to Clay, resting his head on one of his hands, staring into his eyes. “But, um...do you want it back?”

Clay shakes his head, ruffling George’s hair for no apparent reason, and the action makes George giggle. “You need something with our team colors, yeah? Just keep it until the next game is over.”

George goes to say something, but the professor walks in and starts class before he gets the chance to. Instead, he smiles at him, and Clay smiles right back.

/

Clay stretches out in his chair, arms raised above his head, and George laughs as he hears various bones crack. He ignores the way Clay’s shirt lifts up and reveals just a sliver of his skin. “You sound like an old man with all that cracking,” he says, and Clay laughs back at him.

“Hm, you’re right. I crack a lot, man.” He eventually stops stretching, a content smile on his face, letting out a sigh. “Hey, uh, I wanted to ask if you wanted to hang out after I get off practice tonight? I’ll be done around five if you wanna meet up anywhere.”

George hums, thinking about it. A chance to hang out with Clay? Of course he’s going to take that opportunity! The only thing holding him back is the fact that he has a shit ton of coursework tonight, and he gets off class a lot later than he’d like to, leaving him without much time to force a hangout sesh into. An idea soon crosses his mind, and he hopes Clay’s comfortable with it. “I have a lot of work to do today, but you can, like, come hang out at my dorm if you want? Nick’s gonna be out ‘til a little after 10 today, so…”

Clay’s eyes light up, nodding quickly. “That sounds perfect! I can bring food if you want? From Wilbur’s place, I can ask for your usual.”

“You don’t have to--”

“But I _want_ to, if that’s alright.”

George rubs his hands together, smiling a little. “Yeah, alright. You remember my room? F--”

“Fourth floor, room 207. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Sounds good,” George says, soon standing up. Clay stands up with him. “I gotta head to Carnegie for my next class, so...I’ll see you later?”

“Can I walk with you? My next class is in Macintosh at, like, twelve thirty, so I have time to kill. If that’s alright with you.”

“Of course, that sounds great!”

Clay gives him a big smile, clapping him on the back, and George blushes at the touch. He goes to say something, but Clay’s already talking. “Can I ask why you’re going to Carnegie? Isn’t that one of the English buildings?”

“English and History, yeah. I minor in literary studies since it’s something I really enjoy. I mean, I enjoy coding too, but I couldn’t decide whether or not to major in literature, so I just chose to minor in it so I could do both. Besides, isn’t Macintosh an English building too?”

Clay nods, adjusting the bookbag on his back. They fall into step easily. “Yeah, I’m taking a few writing and literature analysis courses for fun. I have a pretty packed schedule, but I like it. I’m in the same boat as you, though, I really like coding but I love literature. I’m not minoring in it, I just thought it’d be cool to pick up a few extra classes here and there.”

“Fair enough,” George says, and Clay laughs. George laughs too.

“Sorry, I ramble a lot, don’t I?”

George shakes his head, flashing him a smile. “Don’t apologize. Your voice is nice.”

Clay smirks a little.

_Fuck_ , did he _really_ just say that out loud?

“My voice is nice, huh?” Clay says, a teasing tone to his voice, gently nudging George’s arm with his elbow. George just huffs and rolls his eyes.

“Oh, shut up. Least you could do is say thank you for that compliment, asshole.”

“Woah, woah, chill!” Clay laughs, jokingly putting his hands up in surrender. “Thank you for the compliment, George. I’m glad to know you think my voice is nice.”

George rolls his eyes again, gently hitting Clay’s shoulder before they fall back into conversation, talking excitedly about whatever crosses their minds until they reach George’s destination.

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” George says, a smile on his face, and Clay nods.

“Later, yeah! I’m stoked, man. You’ll have to show me what you’re working on, too.”

“I will! Now shoo, I have to go in now.”

George expects Clay to laugh, or to roll his eyes, but instead Clay just wraps him up in a tight, comforting hug, and George can’t focus on anything but the scent of Clay, face buried against his chest. Clay steps back far too soon for George’s liking.

“See ya, man!”

/

“Clay!” a weird, loud british voice yells, and Clay smiles. He listens as Wilbur quickly shushes the voice, but Clay knows already that it won’t work. “I was at your game! It was _so cool_ , I’m so glad Wilby let me go.”

“Why didn’t you come say hi, Tommy?” Clay says, teasing him, listening to the sound of Tommy’s heels hitting the cabinet as he swings his legs back and forth, sitting on top of a counter space. Clay walks up to the register, grinning at him. “I would’ve hung out for a bit.”

“You were too busy hugging George, I told him to wait until we got to see you next,” Wilbur says, already preparing Clay’s usual order. Clay blushes. “Figured you’d be in soon.”

“George? Like British George? You guys are _friends_?” Tommy gasps, looking between Wilbur and Clay, and Clay just laughs.

“Yeah, we’re friends. Speaking of George, could you make him a drink too? And like, choose some sort of sandwich he likes. I’m going over to his dorm and I told him I’d bring food.” Wilbur nods, and Clay smiles. An idea pops into his head right after. "Does Nick come in here often, too?"

"Not often, but I know his order. Should I make that as well?"

Clay nods. "Thanks, man."

“Could you tell George to get back on Minecraft?" Tommy says, folding his arms. "He never plays with me or Tubbo or Wilbur anymore! It’s pissing me off. And tell Techno to come back soon! Stupid bastard never comes and sees us anymore even when he’s off school.”

Clay laughs again, something he did way more than usual when Tommy was around. For a sixteen year old, he was genuinely one of the funniest people he knew. “I’ll relay the message, but I’m pretty sure George is like, really busy. And Techno was planning on coming over this weekend, so you’ll see him soon.”

“Pog!” Tommy yells, and Wilbur immediately rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

For three very different people, Tommy, Wilbur, and Techno made a pretty good family unit. Well, it’s more of a found-family type thing, except Tommy’s actually adopted while Wilbur and Techno aren’t actual brothers, nor are they related biologically to Philza, their ‘dad’. None of that really matters past the whole fact that they’re basically family, and that anyone who was friends with Wilbur through the coffee shop or Techno through college knows that.

Wilbur soon finishes up Clay’s order, and Clay takes his leave after giving Tommy a high-five and paying for his items. He pulls out his phone.

**roommate guy:** Tommy’s mad that you haven’t been home in a while

**Pig Man:** how do you even know that

**roommate guy:** ;)

/

George immediately perks up when he hears the knock on his door, turning off the music he was playing to go and answer. He stands there for a few seconds, almost afraid to answer. What if Clay decided he’s bored and leaves after a few minutes? What if his dorm smells weird and Clay hates it? What if Clay--

There’s another knock at his door. George opens it without thinking.

“Hey,” Clay says, a smile on his face. He hands George his sandwich and drink. “Was starting to think you weren’t here."

“Sorry, hah, I was just, uh, fixing my hair really quick.”

“Awe, you did your hair for me? How adorable. Also--this food here is for Nick, I asked Wilbur if he knew his order."

George blushes, quickly turning around and heading to the small kitchen and dining area. “Leave your shoes at the door,” he says, setting his food down on the table. “We can eat here ‘n then go back to my room, if that’s fine. It’s where I do all my work."

Clay winks at him, earning an even deeper blush from George. If Clay notices it, he doesn’t say anything. George is thankful for that. “First _date_ and you’re already inviting me to the bedroom? You move awfully fast, huh?"

George sighs, unwrapping his sandwich and taking a bite, surprised that Clay got him his favorite. He assumed he’d just choose some random food. “First of all, shut up. Second of all, thanks for dinner. I usually don’t eat when I’m working so...Thanks, I guess. And thanks for getting Nick something too, he usually forgets to grab food when he's tired."

Clay just nods, and they fall into comfortable silence, sitting and enjoying their food. It’s Clay who breaks it, setting his drink down. “I was supposed to tell you something.”

“Oh?” George says, ignoring the way his heart drops, stomach cramping in anxiety. Fucking ominous wording, isn’t it?

“I was at Wilbur’s, and Tommy was there.”

George grins. At least it was nothing bad. “Oh, was he now? Did he torment you like he torments me?”

“Well, a little bit, but he has a message for you. Ahem--’tell George to get back on Minecraft! He never plays anymore! I’m Tommy and I’m big and angry when I can’t game!’” Clay says, doing a shitty imitation of Tommy’s voice, but it’s enough to make George double over in laughter. To be fair, it sounds exactly like something Tommy would actually say. “So, there’s that. I told him that you seem kind of busy right now, but I’d still get on soon if I were you. I’m assuming you know how pushy Tommy can be.”

“Oh, trust me, I know. He never used to be that way, though, but I think I like him better this way. Less shy, more of a little bastard.”

Clay laughs, taking another sip of his smoothie. “How long have you known them? Wilbur and Tommy, I mean.”

George hums, tapping his fingers against the table. “I’ve known Wilbur since early my freshman year, so about three years now. I met Tommy after Wilbur graduated, so...A little over two years, maybe? Well, I mean, I’d known _of_ him from him hanging around the shop but I only really properly met him after Wilbur’s graduation. I met their other brother there too, and the same with Phil. You know Techno and Phil?”

Clay nods, a smile on his face as George talks. George’s voice was smooth and sweet like honey, and the accent did...a _lot_ for Clay. “Yeah, Techno’s actually my roommate. Met his family when we became roommates last year. Tommy’s, like, a little fanboy of mine, it’s really funny. First thing he did when I walked in was yell about the most recent game.”

“Oh, he was there? I wish Wilbur would’ve told me, I would’ve sat with them.”

That statement hurts Clay’s heart. He looks at George. _You would’ve rather sat with them than be up close with me?_ , he thinks, but he doesn’t say it for obvious reasons. He isn’t even sure why he thinks that or feels this way. George is his own man, he can do as he pleases, and Clay can’t do much about that. So why does it hurt so much?

“Clay? Are you alright?”

George’s words pull Clay out of his trance. George is looking at him with a concerned, soft expression, reaching out to touch his hand. “You zoned out for a minute, I just wanted to ask if you’re good.”

“Oh, sorry, yeah, I’m good. What were you saying?”

George grins, squeezing his hand for just a moment. Clay blushes as the simple gesture sends sparks through his skin. “I was just wondering if you’d heard the latest rumor about you. It’s, like, kind of worrying but...I trust you to tell me the truth, so…”

Clay looks at him in confusion, already fearful that it was something extremely horrible. He nods for him to go on.

“Basically, uh...They were saying you have anger issues. And that you...uh...y’know, took it out on your ex.”

Clay’s silent. Then, he laughs.

“ _What_?”

George laughs a little as well, staring at him. “Yeah, I had the same reaction. But--” George’s tone turns serious, “--You can tell me the truth. I won’t, like, kick you out right this moment, but I’ll be honest, I definitely won’t talk to you anymore.”

Clay rolls his eyes, smiling at him. “Well, it’s a good thing that I didn’t do that, then. For starters, my last and _first_ relationship was in high school and it lasted for all of two weeks, and there wasn’t any, like, abuse or anything like that. And the anger issue thing, I...Okay, can I be real with you for a minute?”

George nods, and Clay continues. “I don’t have _anger issues_ , I really don’t. But...I have ADHD, okay? Like, pretty bad, and it definitely can make me pretty...aggressive at times, especially when I’m overwhelmed. There’s a reason I play football, you know. A healthy way to get out any sort of anger. I’ve absolutely had my fair share of holes in walls when I was an unmedicated kid going through puberty, but I’m not as bad anymore. I really don’t understand where these people get this shit from.”

George eats the rest of his sandwich, a small smile on his face as Clay finishes up his story. “Fair enough. Thank you for being honest with me, Clay.”

“Why are you thanking me for that? How do you know if I’m being honest?”

George shrugs. “I’m thanking you because it would’ve been easier to just be like ‘no, what the fuck, that’s such bullshit’, but you like, were _actually_ honest about it, even though we aren’t like super close friends. And I know you’re being honest because that’s too much of an elaborate story for you to have come up with on the spot.”

“Hm. Alright, then.”

George smiles again, cleaning up his and Clay’s trash now that they’re done. He gestures for Clay to follow him down the hallway. “I’ll try my best to be attentive and stuff, but again, m’gonna be working on course stuff. You can help, if you want to.”

Clay shakes his head, gesturing at his bookbag. “I brought my laptop with me so we can both work. Plus, it’d be cool to have someone there to help if either of us get stuck, yeah?”

George nods at the suggestion, opening the door to his room and leading Clay inside.

The room isn’t super decorated, but it’s so perfectly _George_ that Clay feels like it’s the best damn room in the world. He has grey and blue bedsheets and blue LED strip lights on the top and bottom of his walls, emitting a soft, calming light. He has two large bookshelves that are nearly completely full with various knickknacks and books, which take up the majority of the area. On the left side of the room is George’s desk, which has a laptop and a gaming rig, two shelves attached to the walls above that have even more books on them. Clay grins when he notices the flowers he had gotten him, still resting in some water even though they’re fairly wilted now.

“Your room is fucking rad, bro,” he says, and George laughs.

“Why thank you! Nick’s room is probably cooler, though. His is like, fire-themed, it’s super cool even if I...can’t really see the color.”

Clay laughs at that, sitting down on George’s bed. "Where'd you get your computer?" 

"Oh, I actually built it myself! It was cheaper to build than it was to buy one outright, plus I got to choose exactly what I wanted to go in it."

Clay gives him an approving look before opening up his laptop, ready to start on some work.

/

They did not get much work done.

Between the immense amount of jokes and stories they told that interrupted their work and the fact they ditched it halfway through to play minecraft with Tommy and Wilbur, there was just very little things done. George definitely got more done than Clay, though, which could be attributed to the fact he works faster. He's just built different.

They're pulled out of their game by the sound of the door opening, and George smiles. "Nick's home," he says, and Clay smiles back at him. "Do you wanna come with me? Or stay in here?"

Clay stands up, nodding his head. "I'll go with. Nick seems pretty cool."

"Oh, he is."

George leads Clay out to the dining room, and Nick just gives George a look. "Clay got you dinner," he says, handing him a tea and a sandwich--his order was basically the same as George's.

"Oh shit, for real? Thanks man!" 

Nick pulls Clay into a hug without much thought, and to George's surprise, Clay hugs him back without any hesitation. To be fair, he had told him that Nick was an affectionate person. He supposes that Clay probably is too, based off of past experiences.

"Nice to properly meet you, by the way," Clay says as he pulls away, a big smile on his face. "Hope you don't mind me being here. George said you had a pretty long day."

"I don't mind! We almost always have people over. Karl stays the night, like, almost every night, and Alex does too here and there."

George sits back and watches as his friends talk, elated that they were getting along so well. He doesn't know what he would've done if his crush didn't like his best friend.

Woah. _Crush_? Alright, that's...fairly new.

He'd acknowledged his little infatuation with Clay already, but it wasn't anything more than that. It was just a thing he felt because Clay is new and exciting.

It wasn't anything more than that.

Right?

"Uh, I'll be back in a second," George mumbles, face pale, hands slightly shaky. Clay gives him a cheery 'alrighty!' but Nick's staring at him with concern.

"Okay…" Nick says, and George knows that Nick knows.

Fuck. Nick knows.

George enters his bedroom, hoping to get his mind off of things, but it’s all Clay--Clay’s bookbag on the floor by the door, Clay’s hoodie he had taken off earlier strewn on the bed, Clay’s laptop sat next to George’s, Clay’s scent is permeating the room. It’s all too much Clay and too little Clay at the same time, and George feels like he’s going to vomit. He falls into his chair, elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands. He takes deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself down, but it doesn’t work.

What happened between then and now? What events happened that made George decide he _actually_ likes Clay? A part of him starts thinking that he’s always felt this way, and he doesn’t have the mental energy to try and dispute that. After all, he’d always thought Clay was cute, and he’s always had some sort of attraction to him. Clay feels like a magnet and George is just the unfortunate piece of metal that’s been pulled in.

Five minutes pass.

George’s mind is whirring with every thought he’d ever had about Clay, and he wants nothing more than to make it stop. His organs feel like they’re turning in on themselves, like his insides are trying to escape to the outer world. He clutches his stomach, shivering in his chair. He thinks about the time Clay carried him to the nurse, to the time they touched hands, to the time Clay leaned against him while they laughed, to the time Clay picked him up and spun him around, to _everything_. He’d only really known him for, what, three weeks tops? And yet, here he was, completely pulled into this crush, this _stupid fucking crush_ , and it hurts like hell. He shouldn’t have let this happen.

Ten minutes pass.

George’s door slowly opens, and there stands Nick, still wearing that same concerned look. He closes the door behind him as soon as he sees George’s state, and he doesn’t hesitate to pull him into his arms. The dam breaks there, and George starts sobbing into his shoulder. Nick’s got him wrapped in a warm, comforting hug, pulling him to the bed so they’re in a better position. He’s got a hand in George’s hair and he’s playing with it, gently scratching his scalp, and George makes a mental note to thank Nick later for this.

“I like him, Nick,” George manages to say, face buried against his chest.

Nick kisses the top of his head, holding onto him even tighter. “I know you do, Georgie. It’s alright.”

Is it really alright? He’s not entirely convinced, but the way Nick says it is enough to calm him down a little. He looks up at him with wide, teary eyes.

“He’s gonna think m’stupid,” George whispers, rubbing his eyes, trying to get rid of any tears. Nick continues to play with his hair.

“He won’t think you’re stupid, man, I promise. Do you want me to be the one to start the conversation? I figured we could all watch a movie or something of the sort, if that’s cool with you.”

George rubs his eyes again, drying up the tears with the fabric of his sweatshirt. He takes a deep breath in and releases it, forcing himself to be calm and collected enough to go and see Clay now, even after this. He just hopes Clay either doesn’t notice or doesn’t pry.

“Come out when you’re ready, we’ll choose a movie,” Nick murmurs, hugging him one last time before he leaves the room.

/

It’s midnight, and the two inhabitants of the dorm are passed out on the couch, and they’re both sleeping on Clay. Clay would wake them up if it weren’t for the fact that he really doesn’t care, and for the fact that they’re keeping him warm. He knows it’s too late to go to his own dorm even if it _is_ just a floor down, although, to be honest, that might just be an excuse for him to stay the night.

Nick fell asleep against his shoulder, curled in on himself, and Clay is pretty sure that he can feel drool gently dripping onto his shirt. He ignores this, though, because it’s _cute_. Not in an attraction way or in a crush way, it’s simply just adorable, and Clay doesn’t think it’s worth it to wake the boy up.

While Nick had fallen asleep against his shoulder, George had managed to shift until his head was laid in Clay’s lap, curled up into a ball, hands covered by the sleeves of his sweatshirt. Clay’s got a hand in his hair, gently stroking it, eyes cast down on his face. He looks so pretty like this, features cast in the light by the movie playing on the TV, making soft snore-like noises and mumbling in his sleep. 

Clay’s mind eventually drifts to the events a little while before. He’d heard George crying when Nick went into his room, though he didn’t mention it, even when Nick came out and told him that everything was fine. Everything was clearly _not_ fine, especially when George came out, eyes red and puffy, his once happy demeanor completely gone and replaced by one of despair. Clay doesn’t know what he did for this to happen, or if it was even his fault. He just knows that it _hurt_.

George is unknown to Clay.

Even though he feels like he already knows quite a bit about George, it’s all just base-level stuff, things that any friend could know. His favorite color, the fact he’s colorblind, the names of his pets back in Brighton, the reason he chose to attend college in America, the fact that he loves reading more than most things in this world. It’s nothing special, and it upsets Clay more than it probably should. What would it take for him to get closer to George?

He supposes he’ll just have to wait it out.

George’s entire existence is genuinely one of the most confusing things, if Clay’s honest. Clay has never been one to think too deeply about his own emotions, and while that may be a flaw of his, he always viewed it as a good thing. Men weren’t supposed to _feel_ all sorts of emotions, right? They were supposed to be strong and closed off, and that’s really how Clay has always been. Sure, he opened up about his past or things he did, but never about his emotions, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to start doing that now, _especially_ not to himself.

George makes him feel things that he couldn’t comprehend, and while Clay loves the rush, he just...can’t. He’s straight, for one, and for two, he knows it isn’t normal for a man of his type--masculine, strong, hotheaded--to feel this way. He knows it’s so, so wrong.

So why does it hurt? He doesn’t know.

He falls asleep soon after the movie ends, head rested against Nick’s.

/

“You’re cuddling with _other_ homies now?” Karl’s voice says, and it wakes Clay from his sleep. He finds Karl climbing onto the couch and pulling Nick closer, giving Clay a teasing glare.

“Yeah, and what about it?” Nick counters, slinging an arm around Karl’s shoulders, before he points at George, who’s still asleep. His eyes soon fall on Clay. “You slept over?”

Clay scratches the back of his neck, a blush and a smile on his face. “Well, I couldn’t just _leave_ , considering both of you were asleep on me.” He looks down at George, absentmindedly running a hand through his hair, amazed by how soft it is. When he looks back up, both Nick and Karl are staring at him with weird, knowing, _teasing_ glances. “What?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Nick soon stands up, pulling Karl with him. “How did you even get in, by the way?”

Clay feels like it’s a thinly veiled attempt to get away from him and George, and he’s right. Nick is pulling Karl out of the dorm, both of them bickering over how exactly Karl got into the dorm--”You gave me the key a few months ago!” “I don’t remember that!” “I show up like this every two days!”--and it leaves Clay alone with the pretty boy sleeping against him.

He looks at the time on his phone. It’s fairly early, being only nine in the morning, and Clay wonders if George has any classes today. He doesn’t think so, and he sure hopes he doesn’t, because he wants to stay here like this all day, until they’re forced to move by George’s boisterous friends.

The responsible part of his mind tells him to wake George up in case he does have class, but the selfish, interested part of his mind takes over. He slowly, steadily shifts until they’re laying down, George laid between his legs with his head on his stomach. With a small, content sigh, he pulls a nearby blanket over them and turns something on the TV to pass the time until George wakes up.

As much as he wants to hate this, to hate this oddly comforting affection, he just can’t. George has him hooked, like a fish on a line, and he couldn’t escape even if he tried. Against everything, against his mind screaming for him to stop, telling him that this is _wrong_ , he just can’t quit. George is a drug, and Clay needs his fix.

After a couple hours of watching whatever YouTube videos he found interesting--namely his own roommate’s Minecraft videos, since they were always hilarious--and ignoring his own disgust towards himself, he feels George stir. He sets his phone off to the side and stares at him, a small smile on his face as George wakes up.

“Wuh…” George mutters, looking up at Clay. His face turns a bright red, and Clay _swears_ that he can almost see tears well up in his eyes. “What--What are you still doing here? Why are we…”

Clay hushes him, running his hand through his hair. George leans into the touch, whether consciously or not. “Me, you, ‘n Nick all fell asleep together out here last night. Nick was like, cuddled up against my side and you had your head in my lap. Karl came over and now him and Nick are gone, and I moved us so you were more comfortable.”

George is silent, still red in the face. He rubs his eyes and settles back into his position, and Clay can practically see the gears turning in his head. “What time is it?”

“Like, noon-thirty.”

“...Sorry, what? _Noon-thirty_?”

“Uh, yeah? Like, thirty minutes past noon?”

George doesn’t bother continuing the conversation over the fact Clay just said _noon-thirty_ instead of just saying twelve thirty or half past noon or something, instead realizing that he absolutely just missed an entire class. “I slept in too long,” he mumbles, climbing off of Clay, much to the dismay of said man. “I missed one of my literature classes.”

“Oh,” Clay mumbles, now feeling guilty for not waking him up earlier. He rubs a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, I should’ve woken you up--”

“No, no! I-it’s alright, the professor won’t give a shit.” George barely looks at him, clearly embarrassed. Clay wonders if it’s because of his affection. “I have a class at two, though, so…”

“Do you _really_ have to go?” Clay asks, the words leaving his mouth before he has the chance to hold them back. “I-I mean, I just--I don’t know. I liked hanging out with you.”

George is silent, and Clay nearly panics until George smiles a little, fidgeting with his hands. “Well...I missed one class, I might as well just take the day off as an absence. M’gonna go take a shower, though, if that’s fine with you?”

“It’s your dorm, man, go for it. I’ll just wait in here, then.”

George hums and heads off to the bathroom, leaving Clay alone, head filled with thoughts of George and George alone.

_He’s so small,_ Clay thinks, imagining how George had felt laying against his body, curled up against his torso. He’d been so small yet so _warm_ , even warmer than Nick, who seemed to be a literal human space heater. Clay wonders if the warmth is just from his feelings.

George, in a poetic sense, is like the perfect weather--warm and sunny, but not too hot that Clay feels like he’s suffocating in the heat. If Clay had to choose between that actual, real life weather and George, he’d choose George without a second thought, even if that meant the weather would end up being some sort of natural disaster. George feels like a warm brownie, just warm enough that it’s pleasant, but cool enough that it’s started to become fudgy rather than gooey. George is like a small cat, soft yet a little bit devious, pretty but snarky.

In a non-poetic sense, George is just perfect.  
Clay shakes his head, disgusted with himself.

Clay gets up from the couch, heading to the bedroom to grab his laptop. He didn’t have any in-person classes today, but he did have one online that he could do at his own pace. He passes by the bathroom, and he can’t help but stop in front of the door, staring down at his own feet. A smile finds its way on his lips.

It’s barely audible over the rushing sound of the shower, but George is singing, some song that Clay doesn’t recognize. He rests up against the wall next to the bathroom door, just listening as George sings his way through two songs, and he’s only pulled out of his little trance by the sound of the water turning off. He goes past as quietly as he can and gets his laptop, only to be faced in the hallway by George, who’s wrapped in nothing but a towel, water dripping down his face from his wet hair.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” Clay mumbles, absolutely _mesmerized_ by George’s figure. He’s so petite, so _fragile_ , and his chest is as pale as porcelain. He has to force himself to look into George’s eyes rather than at his body. “I was just getting my laptop.”

George doesn’t say a word, instead flushing bright red as per usual and rushing past Clay to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Clay just stands there for a moment, confused, before he eventually heads back to the living room. He grabs his phone and checks it, surprised to see a message from Techno.

**Pig Man:** you didn’t come back to the dorm  
**Pig Man:** are you still alive

**roommate guy:** Aww I didn’t think you’d care!  
**roommate guy:** I am alive tho, I just ended up staying the night at George’s

**Pig Man:** ok

Clay smiles at the messages. Even if Techno was a monotone, sarcastic, evil bastard, he still cared, and it was always nice when he’d say something to show that. Techno would deny it, but Clay knows that he genuinely cares and feels for him.

He’s invested in his coursework when George comes out of his bedroom finally, hair completely dry--Clay had heard a hairdryer at one point--and clothed, wearing a simple white crew-neck like Adidas t-shirt, and it somehow manages to make George look even smaller than before.

“Hi,” George says, one of his books under his arm. He sits down next to Clay, and Clay immediately notices the distance between him. _Is it too weird to scoot closer? Would George be alright with that? What if he--_

The distance is soon closed by George scooting up next to him, albeit shyly, until they’re sat right next to each other. Clay takes note of George’s flushed face, of the way he trembles against him, of the way he avoids looking at him, and it makes Clay smile. _So pretty._

/

“Okay, realistically, it’s just a simple typo in the code, man,” Nick says, gesturing at Clay’s laptop. The two had been hanging out a lot more, with or without George. Clay just groans in frustration, throwing his hands in the air before slamming them down on the desk.

“I’ve checked _every_ part of it! There’s not a single fucking typo!”

Nick sighs, taking the laptop from him, going through the code as well. He wasn’t as well versed in code as Clay or George, considering he was an engineering major, but he knew enough to be able to figure things out. He looks at every line individually before giving Clay a sigh. “Okay, yeah, I can’t find anything--”

“See? I told you! It should be fucking _working_ , I don’t--What the _hell_ am I doing wrong?”

“Dude, calm down, I’m sure it’s nothing--”

“This project is like forty percent of my goddamn grade! If I can’t figure out this stupid fucking code I’m gonna fail, man! I’ll fucking fail!”

Nick just takes a deep breath, sitting down on the bed. Clay was quick to get frustrated, yeah, but never like this. It’s enough for him to wonder if something else is on his mind, and he asks about exactly that. “It isn’t just the code, is it?”

Clay pauses. “What?”

“You’re far more worked up than you usually would be over something like this. It isn’t just the code, is it? There’s something else swimming around up there.” He taps his own head, a small smile on his face. Clay relaxes a little, holding his head in his hands.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right, I just…” He swallows his own spit, looking up at Nick again. “I’m just worried about tomorrow, man. There’s a lot of pressure and it’s getting to me worse than usual.”

Ah. Tomorrow.

Tomorrow is Saturday, and as per usual, there’s a football game. Normally that wouldn’t bother Clay, but it’s the qualifying game, _and_ it’s against the team’s biggest rivals. There’s a lot riding on this game, and Clay knows that. Fuck, he _really_ knows that, and it sure as hell doesn’t help that--

“Does George have anything to do with it?”

Nick has this stupid, shit-eating grin on, and Clay just sighs. George is going to be there again, right on the sidelines, watching Clay close up. He wishes this didn’t put even more pressure on him, but it does, because he wants nothing more than to put on a good show for him, than to show him his full potential when it comes to playing. It feels _stupid_. It’s football, for fuck’s sake, and Clay knows that George doesn’t care about it at all. But that’s exactly it, isn’t it? George is _only_ going for Clay, and he’ll _only_ be focusing on Clay. It’s way too much.

“I don’t want to disappoint him.”

Nick frowns, patting the bed next to him. Clay gets up and sits down next to him, and as expected, Nick pulls him into a hug.

“George wouldn’t be disappointed, Clay,” he says, and Clay is surprised by how serious Nick can be. He’s used to his flirty, silly behavior. “Just being able to watch you will make him happy, no matter what you do. Trust me.”

“I just...He means a lot to me, he’s literally the one person I care about the most. I want him to be there _so bad_ but I’m terrified that if he is, I’ll be so stressed that I’ll fuck up. I _can’t_ fuck up, I just can’t.”

Nick sighs. “Have you considered asking him to not come?”

Clay freezes.

“What? No, absolutely not, I need him there, I can’t--”

“Clay, look at me,” Nick says, and Clay does as said. “George will understand, alright? He knows how much this game means to you. He wants you to do well just as much as you do, trust me.”

It takes a few moments, but Clay finally lets out a breath of relief, rubbing his eyes. “Okay, yeah. I’ll tell him.” He goes back to his laptop, scanning over the code again. He laughs, in utter disbelief. “I fucking figured it out. I forgot a damn bracket in one of the lines and it fucked everything up.”

Nick laughs along with him.

/

George absolutely did not understand. Like, at all. 

He reads the message over and over and over, eardrums ringing. What did he do wrong? Clay went from being stoked for George to be there to asking him to stay home, and every possible theory is running through George’s mind. He feels like he’s going to vomit.

**clay:** Hey, I just wanted to tell you to stay home tomorrow. It isn’t a good idea for you to be there and I’m sorry

That had been an hour ago, and George was still reeling, anxiety eating him starting with his heart before rushing through his veins, leaving him numb and broken on his bed. Why the _hell_ was this affecting him so bad? After all, it’s just a football game. Clay is a grown man, he can make the decision on whether or not he wants George there. _But what had George done wrong?_

Things had been going well, _really well_ , especially after the night Clay had stayed over. It’d been a few weeks since then, and the pair had only gotten closer. _Is this just really horrible karma?,_ George wonders, curling in on himself. This had absolutely no reason to make him feel this horrible, but to be fair, he was also pretty much in love with Clay at this point. How could he not be? Clay was the nicest person he’d ever met, so full of love to give, and he gave it all to George through affection and compliments and looks, and yet here George was, wondering if he’d been reading everything wrong. Did Clay just pity him? Is that why he became his friend, because he pitied him after he broke his nose? Is it a _guilt_ thing?

George clutches his phone, dialling Nick’s number.

“Hey, man, what’s up? I’m at Clay’s dorm right now,” Nick says, as if George didn’t know that. Did Nick know what Clay said? Did Nick have a _part_ in it? After all, Nick was extremely affectionate with Clay, but he was like that with all his friends. Or was it that Nick is _jealous_? Is his affection toward Clay romantic? Did he suggest this idea to Clay to try and tear them apart? Nick knew George, he’d surely know that this is something that’d ruin him.

“Wh-why would you--” George starts, but he’s sobbing before he can get the rest of his words out. He hears a few noises from the other side of the phone. “I can’t--I just--”

“George, I’m coming back to the dorm, I’ll be there in like...a minute. Can you breathe for me? In and out, love, c’mon, you can do it…”

George hears Clay’s confused calls from a distance, and then he hears Nick telling him that everything’s fine, and that he needs to just stay there for a while. George just sobs again, hands trembling so bad that he nearly drops his phone.

Nick gets upstairs within a matter of moments, hanging up the call as he enters George’s room. “Oh, George…” he whispers, pulling him into his arms. “Is this because--?”

“Did you m-make him say that?” George says, pushing Nick away, voice strained as tears pour down his face. “You--Are you _jealous_? Are you trying to _take him away_?”

“...What the fuck are you talking about?”

George goes quiet, staring at Nick in confusion. “I...You...You made Clay tell me to stay home!”

Nick scoffs. “Are you serious? Why the hell would I do that?” As he speaks, George starts to realize that, shit, yeah, of course Nick wouldn’t do that. _What is wrong with me?_ “He’s worried about the game, and he thought that you being there would make his anxiety worse. I figured you’d be okay with staying home, I didn’t...Fuck, George, I didn’t think it’d mess you up at all.”

George just sits there.

“I’m so stupid,” he mumbles, hiding his face, crying into his hands. “M’so sorry, Nick, I just--I thought he hated me a-and then I thought maybe you were just jealous for some reason and I overreacted and--”

Nick wraps his arms around George, gently rocking him back and forth until he calms down a little bit, cooing soft little _it’s okay, Georgie_ ’s and _you’ll be okay_ ’s. It takes a few minutes, but George eventually calms down enough to talk normally.

“Now, talk to me,” Nick says, looking George in the eye. He wipes away his tears for him. “I’m here for you, okay? I don’t want Clay, and I didn’t try and hurt you, and neither did he. Keep that in mind.”

George nods a little, taking a deep breath. “I just...You know how I am, Nick, I always assume the worst,” he says, laughing bitterly, and Nick gives him a knowing smile. “I just get so scared when it comes to him. He’s so out of my league and he’s so _amazing_ and I’m constantly so terrified that I’m doing things wrong. I thought he...he decided he didn’t like me and that he didn’t want me there. And then...I don’t know, I started thinking about how you’re always affectionate with everyone and how maybe you--your affection with him was different and that you just wanted me out of the picture so you told him to, uh, tell me to stay home.” He looks at Nick, who’s just smiling at him. “Now that I say it out loud, it sounds pretty fucking stupid.”

“I mean, yeah, but still. It isn’t any of that, dude. He’s literally just afraid that having you there will make him too stressed to play.”

George frowns, and tears well up again. “I stress him out?”

“No, _no_ , not like that. He’s scared he’ll mess up and disappoint you.”

“...Oh.”

_Fuck, I’m awfully selfish, aren’t I?,_ George thinks, feeling so, so shitty for making this about him. He looks at the floor, guilt eating at his heart.

Nick pats his shoulder, still smiling. “I think, _maybe_ , you should go talk to him. If he hears that you won’t be disappointed, he might take back what he said.”

George doesn’t think he’s ever left his dorm faster.

/

“I didn’t mean to make you upset,” Clay murmurs, curled up with George on his own bed, legs tangled together. It’d become a normal occurrence, although it felt just as electrifying as the first time. “Nick said it’d be fine, and I was too scared to talk to you properly, so…”

George snuggles up closer to him, and Clay sighs. _I want to kiss you_.

“It’s alright,” George says, eyes still teary. Clay wipes away the wetness with his thumbs, and George can barely think. He manages to get a few words out. “I won’t come if you don’t want me to, but…”

“...But you want to go?”

“Yeah.”

Clay laughs, ruffling George’s hair. “I think...I think I’d like that. As long as you keep being my personal cheerleader, yeah?”

George smiles, hiding his face against Clay’s shoulder. “Of course. Just for you.”

They fall into silence for a little while, comfortable with just laying there tangled in each other, until George remembers something. “Oh! By the way, do you want the hoodie back now? I know you said to keep it until the game, but I’m buying a team shirt at the game tomorrow, so--”

“It’s gonna be cold, you should keep it. Stay warm, y’know?” Clay says with a smile, and George can’t argue with that.

/

Fourth quarter.

The clock is down to ten seconds.

The team is losing, only behind by a few points. All they need is one more touchdown.

Clay is losing his shit.

Coach McCall calls a timeout, and George watches as Clay trudges to the sideline, exhaustion clear on his features. Both of the teams had been using up all of their timeouts in the last five minutes to try and buy more time, to try and force a plan, but this was the last one they had. George’s heart sinks.

He barely thinks as he walks up to Clay--the timeout was mostly for everyone to take a break and get their wits together before hitting it hard for the last few remaining seconds.

“ _Dream_ ,” he murmurs, reaching up to grab Clay’s face, wiping the sweat from his brow. He’d taken his helmet off for a moment. “You guys are so close, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s just--it isn’t enough--”

“Then _make it enough_. For me, yeah?”

Clay stares down at George, hand resting on the one George had on his face. He gently squeezes it.

“For you. Just for you.”

George grins, and Clay slips his helmet back on, running off to the field as the timeout ends.

He can practically feel his heart in his throat as the play starts, and he isn’t sure what happens next. It’s all a blur really. Clay was in his sights at one moment, and then he wasn’t--he was on the ground, but--

“ _Touchdown_!” the announcer yells, and the audience _screams_ , and George would flinch if it weren’t for the fact he’s too busy searching for Clay. Where’d he gone? Was he hurt? Did he--

Much like the first game George attended, he’s being held nice and close, but this time it’s different.

Clay’s _kissing_ him.

In front of thousands of people, he’s _kissing_ him, helmet thrown somewhere off to the side, and George can’t get enough. He’s lost himself in Clay’s mouth, and he doesn’t care as the team surrounds them, cheering Clay on as if he wasn’t currently making out with George.

“All thanks to you,” Clay manages to mumble out, hands grasping at George’s face, leaning down to press their foreheads together. “All because of you. Did it for you, George, just for you, are you proud?”

George laughs, soon feeling himself leave ground as Clay picks him up bridal style. He wraps his arms around his neck, grinning like a madman. He’d never felt happier. “I _am_ proud,” he says, as the team gathers around for one last play of their alma mater. “I knew you could do it, Clay. Knew it.”

Clay softly sings the lyrics to the alma mater, and George smiles, surprised by how soft Clay’s voice sounded. He shifts a little in his arms, staring up at him with wide, loving eyes, unable to look away.

/

“You both owe me twenty bucks!” Alex says, laughing his ass off, pointing at two very, very dejected men--Karl and Nick. George just looks at them in confusion, as does Clay, who was currently standing beside them as they walk to the dorms. “We bet on how long it’d take for you two to finally kiss, and I _won_!”

Clay wheezes. “You _bet_ on it?”

“Well, yeah! As soon as you guys talked for the first time we figured it’d happen,” Karl says, pulling out a twenty dollar bill. He hands it to Alex with a sigh. “Me ‘n Nick thought it’d be sooner.”

“I can’t believe you guys,” George says, but he can’t find it in himself to be mad. Why would he be? He got the one thing he’d been wanting for a while now.

Or had he? Shit, he hadn’t even stopped to think about what this meant for the two of them. He reaches for Clay’s hand out of need for comfort, holding it loosely until Clay squeezes, looking down at him with a smile. George thinks he knows the answer to his question.

All of them were staying over at George and Nick’s tonight, even though they both know that the RAs will have quite a few choice words for them in the morning. Technically this many people in one dorm all night wasn’t allowed, but it wasn’t something that was enforced, not to mention it’s a Saturday night, so a lot of people would be hanging out after the game. George just hopes he gets enough alone time with Clay to talk to him.

The opportunity comes soon after Karl and Nick pass out on the couch, and Alex decides that he’s sleeping in Nick’s bed, on the reason of not wanting to wake up with back pain. George pulls Clay to his room as fast as he can, which makes Clay laugh.

“Eager, are we?” he teases, and George rolls his eyes.

“I’m not having sex with you, Clay,” he says, and Clay flushes red. George just laughs. “I actually, uh, just wanted to...talk. About, um. Us.”

Clay lets out a shaky breath. “Alright, cool.”

George settles in on the bed with Clay next to him, tangled up as per usual, foreheads pressed together. Clay steals a soft, slow kiss before George can speak, and George just giggles. “I’m trying to be serious, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” Clay says, and George feels as though, maybe, there’s more to that statement than meets the eye. He doesn’t bother to try and figure out what else there could be.

“I think you know what m’gonna ask.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I do.”

George closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. He opens them again, staring into Clay’s. “What...what are we? What do you want to be?”

He swears that Clay winces at the question, and his heart rate speeds up. Oh, this isn’t going to be good, is it?

“George...What do you want us to be?”

George fidgets with his hands, and Clay grabs them, squeezing them gently to calm him down. “I...I like you. So much, Clay, I--I want to be a thing. Like official and exclusive, I want to be yours, it’s what I’ve wanted for so long--”

“Fuck. Okay.”

George’s heart shatters.

“Do you...not want that?”

Clay looks at him, eyes pained, squeezing so hard onto George’s hands that he hears a few joints crack. George can’t even feel it. “I...don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”

“Oh.”

“...Yeah.”

George licks his lips, trembling a bit, sick to his stomach. He isn’t even sure how to respond to that, so he doesn’t. He simply chooses to lean in again and kiss Clay until he can’t think, until he temporarily forgets what Clay just told him. It’s better than nothing, and at least with this, he can pretend.

He can pretend.

/ 

George wakes up the next morning to an empty bed, and his heart nearly breaks yet again, until he sees Clay entering the room. “Oh, good morning,” he says, smiling sweetly at George, like last night never happened. He kisses his forehead and pulls him into his arms, soon kissing all over his face. “Nick’s on his way back with breakfast from Wilbur’s, and he took Karl ‘n Alex with him, so it’s just us until they get back. Is that cool?”

“Yeah, that’s cool,” George says, and for some reason, he feels _happy_. Even after being told by the man that he’s hopelessly in love with, that he’s been kissing since last night, that it ‘isn’t a good idea right now’, he feels happy. He can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing. “Get back in bed? S’cold without you.”

Clay laughs, soft and calming, before he climbs in next to George, pulling him as close as possible. They lay there for a while, kissing here and there, talking about whatever crosses their minds, and George almost feels normal. He almost feels whole, _complete_ , for the first time in months.

The piece that’d fully finish him is _right there_ , and yet it’s so far away at the same time.

It’s only about ten minutes before their friends get back, and Clay carries George out to the kitchen, mostly to flex that he could. Nick rolls his eyes and sets everyone’s food out on the table. “Are you two dating yet or not?”

Clay sucks in a breath.

“No.”

George really should’ve expected the incredulous stares they got from the three boys, but the feeling of their eyes on them feels like someone pointed a magnifying glass onto his skin while out on a sunny day, burning and melting through to his bones and out the other side. He shies away from their gaze.

“Okay. Well. Alright,” Nick says, and George knows already that he’s in for a long conversation later.

/

George was right about the conversation, to an extent. He figured it’d be with Nick, but no, it’s with Karl and Alex, who are sitting on his bed while he messes around with some plugin he made for Minecraft. And it isn’t the conversation he expected it to be--instead of prying, they just simply asked if he’s alright, to which he answered a somewhat hesitant ‘yes’. They just went from there.

On the other hand, though, Nick was about ready to throw hands with Clay.

“What the hell happened that you guys _aren’t_ a thing?” Nick asks, and Clay can’t meet his gaze. He doesn’t even know.

You’d think that, judging from the way Clay acts, he’s just as in love as George is, if not deeper, and you’d be completely correct in that assumption. But that’s exactly what’s holding him back. Just in the time that he’d known George, the weird rumors flying around about him had increased tenfold, and they were finally starting to get to him. He could only take so many times of people calling him homophobic slurs behind his back before he broke, but he didn’t break for the expected reason. He broke because he wanted to shield George from the same treatment, from having to deal with knowing everyone in almost every class you’re in hates you.

Clay liked to think of himself as resilient, as strong and capable of handling anything. He didn’t really give a damn that these people talked about him, considering the fact that it was just _those people_ , and he usually got a pretty good laugh out of it. But when it came to George, he didn’t know what to expect. He wanted to keep him safe, to keep him to himself and no one else, although he’d already gone and fucked that up by making out with him at a football game. His judgement is clouded and murky, and although the rational part of him is saying _dude, this is stupid as hell, just be honest with him and take what you want_ , the other part of him, the _fearful_ part of him, is telling him to do anything but that.

So he tells this all to Nick, eyes focused blankly on some random spot on the table, refusing to meet Nick’s eyes as he speaks. He’s too afraid to.

“Clay,” Nick says, and Clay doesn’t move. “You’re fucking stupid.”

That gets Clay’s attention.

“I--What?”

“You heard me, idiot,” Nick says, sitting down next to him, glaring at him. “You’re sat here practically professing your love for George, and yet you won’t think for one damn minute that maybe you should just try this out? Who gives one if the people around you want to say things about it! All that matters is that you guys like each other, yeah?”

“Well, yeah, but--”

“I’m surprised George hasn’t freaked out yet, dude. You’ve got him fucked up.” Nick runs a hand through his hair. “He panicked when he first realized he liked you, he panicked when you told him not to come to the game, he never shuts up about you, he--he basically worships the ground you stand on, and I know you do the same with him. So what’s the deal?”

“I just _said_ \--”

“Nah, dude, I’m not accepting that bullshit excuse. None of these rumors got to you until now.” Nick stares him right in the eye. “You wanna know what I think it is?”

Clay stays silent.

“I think you’re scared, Clay.”

And there it is.

“You’re terrified, aren’t you? If I had to guess, I’d assume that you’ve got some unresolved sexuality issues floating around in your little brain, and that’s _fine_. But you shouldn’t make excuses to cover it up, and you shouldn’t make George suffer because you can’t figure yourself out.”

Clay stays silent for a bit, thinking over Nick’s words. He knows, deep down, that Nick is right. It’s not the rumors in general that bother him, it’s the ones that theorize that he’s gay. It isn’t that he’s scared of roping George into this mess with him, because he knows George is more than capable of dealing with it.

Clay’s afraid of himself.

And he’d made George pay for that.

After all, he’d already been through this in his own mind already, when he was cuddled up with George and Nick. All these years of being told how men should act had built up a wall in his own mind, and he’d have to scale it to be able to get over this. But how could he? It’s easy to be affectionate and do things that are _gay_ if you convince yourself that it’s not, and he’d been convinced of that from the start.

He looks up at Nick. “I’m not gay.”

“You are.”

“I like women.”

“Okay, you’re bi.”

“But--”

“Do I need to spell it out for you? I’m affectionate with my friends, yeah, but I don’t buy them gifts and make excuses to hang out with them, and I sure as hell don’t kiss them in public, or anything like that.” Nick sighs. “Talk to me, man. What’s holding you back?”

Clay takes a deep breath, unloading everything onto Nick, unable to meet his eyes. Nick just smiles at him, and it puts Clay at ease.

“It’s hard to unlearn things like that, but…None of that really matters. You feel pretty strongly about George, don’t you?”

Clay nods, albeit hesitantly. “Yeah, I do. I really do.”

“ _That’s_ what matters. If you feel strongly about him, and you want to pursue him, why should _anything_ else stop you? George is a guy and he’s gay and he has strong emotions a lot, you know that. Does that make him any less worthy or less deserving of anything?”

“No, but--”

“Then why isn’t it the same for you? Why does it make you a lesser man?”

Clay goes silent.

The walls he’d built up around his mind crumble down within seconds.

“Fuck, Nick, I--Okay, yeah, you’re right,” he says, taking a deep breath.

“You can thank me later.” Nick pulls him into a hug, patting his back.

Clay squeezes Nick tight, laughing against his shoulder, thankful that he has him as a friend. “I know, like--I know earlier it all sounded like an excuse, but I genuinely _am_ worried about how people will talk. I don’t want George to be upset if people start doing the same to him.”

Nick shrugs, pulling away. “George can handle it, trust me. And if he can’t, he’ll talk to you about it, alright? It’ll be fine.

_It’ll be fine,_ Clay repeats in his mind, a smile stuck on his face.

/

It’s the last game of the season. The Playoff game, specifically. And they’re up against the biggest team from Clay’s home state of Wisconsin. They’d made it through somehow, even with a few blunders here and there, and Clay’s oddly calm about it, though of course he is. George is here, right next to him on the bus seat, cuddled up to his side as they make the drive to Wisconsin for the game. It’d taken a lot of convincing and pleading for Coach McCall to allow George on the bus with them, but it was absolutely worth it. Clay felt absolutely invincible with George by his side.

All of their friends--Nick, Alex, Karl, Wilbur, Tommy, and Techno--were piled into two separate cars behind them, following them on the drive to their destination, determined to come and watch Clay win. It’d been Techno’s idea, surprisingly, and everyone was immediately on board with it, even if it was a twenty hour drive. The drive wasn’t ideal, but the school couldn’t exactly afford a plane ride. Plus, it made it easier for their friends to tag along.

After an exhausting drive and a hotel stay along the way, they were finally here. Clay gently shakes George awake, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “Wake up, Georgie,” he whispers, smiling as George stirs next to him.

“Are we ‘ere?” George mumbles, cuddling closer to Clay, clutching onto his shirt. Clay just laughs and nods, helping him get up so they could get off the bus.

“We have to go in for a conference ‘n some stuff, but I’m sure you can find something to do with everyone until the game starts. You know where and when to meet me, yeah?”

“Six, at the entrance to the stadium,” George repeats, looking up at Clay. “I’ll be there early f’you.”

Clay beams at him, soon leaning down and kissing him, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll see you then, honey.”

/ 

George feels like this is a common occurrence, and yeah, it is. It’s fourth quarter, the clock is ticking, the score is close, the same as usual. But there’s one big difference this time--Clay, rather than looking like he’s about to pass out from exhaustion, looks like he could take on the entire world by himself. It’s exhilarating to see Clay so hyped up and confident, making each pass fluidly and barreling his way down the field, and George can’t help but scream and cheer for him even louder than most of the audience. 

He’s wearing Clay’s hoodie yet again, even though he’d been meaning to give it back. He decides he’ll give it back after the game.

George watches as Clay runs as fast as he can towards the goal, football clutched close to his chest, with only seconds left. His heart is racing, so fast that he thinks he might die, and--

Clay’s gone. Completely gone, and someone else has the ball. Someone on his team has the ball, and they’re charging to the goal, and they make it.

But Clay’s gone.

No one really seems to notice this, apparently, because the supporting crowd is losing their shit, cheering as loud as they can. That was it--the winning touchdown, scored right as the clock hit zero.

But Clay’s gone.

Before George knows it, the cheering stops.

“Number thirteen seems to have been hit,” the announcer says, and a hush falls over the stadium, even in the midst of celebration. 

Clay’s out there on the field, helmet knocked off, blood dripping from his nose. A player from the other team is being hauled off of him.

George can’t even think. He lets his legs carry him without thought, ignoring anyone who might try to stop him, until he’s kneeling over a now knocked out Clay. He grabs his hands, squeezing them as hard as he can, tears welling up in his eyes. “Clay? Clay, please, c’mon, _wake up_ , c’mon…”

Coach McCall and a nurse run out on the field, and much to George’s surprise, neither of them try to pry him away. They stay out of his way even as a couple of paramedics bring a stretcher out just in case Clay doesn’t wake up immediately, or in case his injury is on the bad side of things.

Luckily, Clay wakes up about three seconds after George starts crying, and George can finally breathe again. “Oh, god, Clay,” he mumbles, pulling away long enough for the nurse to help Clay sit up. Clay gives him a weak smile.

“I think I broke my nose,” he says, and George can’t help but double over in laughter, leaning against him as the nurse quickly cleans the blood from Clay’s face.

They get him standing, some cotton shoved into his nostril and ice on his nose.

“Number thirteen, known as Dream, seems to be alright,” the announcer says, and Clay waves at the crowd as they resume their cheering.

/

“I guess my pass worked,” Clay says, leaning against George, watching the replay on the TV in the nurse’s office. George hadn’t seen it when it happened, but Clay had quickly passed the ball to another player a mere few seconds before he got tackled, and George curses the player that hit him. “We...We fucking won, George. We fucking won.”

“ _You_ won, Clay,” George says, staring down into his eyes. He looks pretty even with a bandaged, bloody nose, and even as a bruise forms around his eye. “You did it. If it weren’t for you, we might not have done it.”

Clay rolls his eyes, slowly sitting up from the bed. He pulls George down next to him, cuddled against his side. “I wanted to talk to you,” he murmurs, giggling at the way George tenses up. “It isn’t anything bad, don’t worry. I just wanted to wait until the season was over for...a few reasons.”

George looks up at him, nodding a little. “Okay, go for it.”

It takes Clay a few moments, but he eventually finds the right words. “I had a long talk with Nick the day after you, uh, confessed or whatever,” he says, and George blushes. “I...I don’t know why I said that I didn’t want to be with you. I mean, I _know_ why, but it’s just...Fuck, George. I was so scared. I was raised to be masculine and straight and whatever else, and I just couldn’t rationalize the idea of being with you, even though I’ve been hopelessly in love with you for months now.” George gasps at the confession, but Clay glosses right over it. “I guess what I’m saying is--is that I _do_ want you. So bad, George, I want it all. I want _us_.”

George grins, hugging Clay as tightly as he can. “We can talk more about this later, okay?” he whispers, pressing their foreheads together. “When we’re back home. I’d rather celebrate right now anyway. Oh, and--um, do you want this hoodie back now? Since the season is over?”

Clay laughs, shaking his head. “I always wanted you to keep it, I just didn’t know how to tell you that. Kept extending the hoodie return date for you.”

“You’re such an idiot.”

They fall into silence, content with watching the news coverage of the game, before Clay speaks up.

“I was hoping this would all turn out a little bit better, you know,” he says, and George laughs. “I was hoping for another kiss after a win moment.”

“I’m _right_ here, Clay, you can still kiss me.”

And Clay does.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope yall liked :) i could talk for agesssssssssss ab this au (i have a lot more planned) so. follow my new twt @ GE0RGEAPOLOGIST for updates n such :)


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